


Say Cheese

by ratpoet



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, Season 1, gallagher family goodness, plus a party, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratpoet/pseuds/ratpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second thing she gets her hands on is rectangular and long, and glints silver in the light coming from the slight gap between the door and the frame. Fiona holds it up to her face, smiling as she realizes what she’s holding.</p><p>Lip’s old camera. </p><p>And lying somewhere amongst the other crap in the box, a photo album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Cheese

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyone who misses this family](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=everyone+who+misses+this+family).



> Present tense is season 4.
> 
> Past tense is season 1.

Fiona sighs and wipes the sweat off her forehead. Her fingers come away grimy with dirt. It’s all over her skin, the dust clinging to her hair and getting into her eyes, dirt congealing under her fingernails. She looks around the tiny closet in the dim light, and kicks one of the boxes in frustration.

She’d never thought cleaning out the closet would be such a daunting task. After all, what was sorting through a few boxes and throwing stuff into piles compared to trudging through sludge and, quite literally, shit? But she’d underestimated the amount of stuff they had crammed in there, not to mention the fucking specks of dust which got anywhere and everywhere.

And then there was the stuff she was meant to be throwing away. Lip’s first grade textbooks, the last year he’d asked her for help with school. Ian’s ROTC uniform, still perfectly ironed, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke clinging to it underneath the perfect film of dust that coated everything. Debbie’s broken baking trays, the charred remains of another near-disaster still stuck on the sides. Carl’s ninja star collection, a remnant of the summer their shitty TV had refused to show them anything other than the anime channel. Liam’s bitten off pacifiers and milk-stained bibs, stuffed into a box for whenever Monica decided to present the Gallaghers with another baby. It was like throwing memories away, and Fiona just couldn’t do it.

And so the ‘keep’ pile kept growing larger and larger by the second, until the ‘throw’ pile disappeared somewhere amongst it.

Fiona slowly counts to ten- deep breath in, deep breath out- and once again delves into the boxes and boxes of random crap. The first thing she gets her hands on is squishy and soft. She strains her eyes at what looks like the carcass of a dead rat. Fiona throws it away in disgust.

The second thing she gets her hands on is rectangular and long, and glints silver in the light coming from the slight gap between the door and the frame. Fiona holds it up to her face, smiling as she realizes what she’s holding.

Lip’s old camera.

And lying somewhere amongst the other crap in the box, a photo album.

-x-

“Okay, guys, on three,” Lip said as Fiona and Veronica threw their arms around each other and turned up their lips in mock- pouts.

“One, two-,”

“Whiskeey!” two high-pitched, nearly-giggling voices interrupted.

 “You have got to be kidding me,” Lip muttered, shaking his head at the pair.

“Whiskey!” veronica shouts again.

“Is there anybody here who’s actually serious about getting their pictures clicked, or should I just hand this camera over to Liam?” Lip asked, slightly pissed, as Fiona and Veronica both erupted into peals of laughter.

“Click ours!” Debbie shouted from the other end of the room, her hands holding a flailing Carl with slicked back hair and a skewed tie in place.

“Man, I still don’t get how you forced Carl into that,” Kev mumbled from the floor, a bottle of beer in his hands and countless others lying strewn around him. He’d long since given up on his plan to stay sober the whole night. After all, there was only so much a man could take.

Seeing Ian fucking some guy in an alley, and Carl wearing a suit seemed to be enough for one night.

“Easy. Bribery and blackmail,” Debbie said, smiling wide and ducking just as Carl aimed a punch at her head.

“This fucking house, I swear,” Kev mumbled. Debbie poked his back with her foot.

“If you guys _want_ bad pictures, then it’s my pleasure,” Lip said, acid dripping from his voice as he flipped through the pictures he’d clicked so far- almost all of them blurred, and the rest containing Frank.

Suddenly, Debbie let out a shriek of pain, wrenching her hand away from Carl, and before she knew it, Carl was out of her arms.

“He bit me! He fucking bit me!” she said, rubbing her arm incredulously.

“Debs! Language!” Fiona shouted from the couch over which she was slumped.

“Next time, try a chokehold,” Mandy suggested through a mouthful of chips, a strand of her rainbow hair snaking inside the corner of her lips. Lip had the sudden, irrational urge to reach out and pull it out.

Instead, Lip just raised his eyebrows at her. She grinned and flipped him off.

“Teach you not to mess with me again,” Carl said to Debbie, picking up a bottle of beer from the floor and taking a sip.

“Hey, hand that over,” Ian said, appearing out of nowhere. He patted Carl on the head and pulled the bottle out of his hand in the same motion. Lip eyed him over, taking in the red cheeks and messy hair, along with the inside out shirt. Lip could only hope it wasn’t Kash this time.

“Look who decided to turn up,” Lip said, handing Ian another bottle.

Ian bowed theatrically, smirking at Lip. Lip shook his head and patted his back, mouthing _you’re welcome, asshole_. Ian tipped his head towards Lip, a silent thank you for covering for him.

“Looks like someone’s in a good mood,” Mandy giggled, wrapping her arms around Ian from behind and whispering something in his ear. Ian turned his head and kissed her cheek.

“Ew, gross!” Carl and Debbie both shrieked.

“Remember the no PDA rule?” Lip asked them as Ian flipped him off and Mandy laughed.

“That was for you and Karen, dickhead,” Ian said.

“Is she coming?” Mandy asked, screwing up her lips in distaste. Lip didn’t comment on it, only shrugged his shoulders. Karen had no reason to.

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me- who exactly is coming?” Ian asked casually, twirling a strand of Mandy’s hair around his finger. Mandy smacked his hand away.

“If you mean Mickey, I think he’s gonna be a no show,” Mandy said. She didn’t notice Ian’s face fall, or the way his eyes moved to the floor.

Lip did.

“He’ll be missing out,” Lip said. Ian nodded his head at him, with a weak attempt at a smile.

 

 

“Hey, uh, is there anything going on between you and, you know,” Lip trailed off, rubbing his nose. Mandy’s head twitched against his shoulder as she grabbed his arm. He was just glad she’d stopped snoring into his ear.

“Are you trying to steal my girlfriend?” Ian asked, punching Lip’s shoulder playfully.

“Something tells me you wouldn’t care if I did.”

“What gave it away?” Ian asked.

“The gay part was the first clue,” Lip said.

Ian laughed and sank back against the couch, propping up his feet on a passed out Frank’s back. Lip looked around the room. Fiona and Veronica were stretched out over the carpet, snoring softly, and Kevin was still on the same spot, mumbling something about shitty beer and soapy pubes. Lip had no idea how it had happened, but everyone’s clothes and hair were covered with fine specks of pink glitter.

Debbie, Carl and Liam were asleep in their bedrooms. Or at least, that’s what Lip thought. He suspected they were watching shitty movies on mute.

“Not taking any more pictures?” Ian asked, shaking Lip’s camera in front of his face.

“Jeez, Ian, I know what pictures are, you don’t have to shake the camera in front of my face,” Lip huffed out.

“Yeah, I'm gonna take that as a no,” Ian smirked.

Lip looked at the camera, shaking his head. He should’ve known photography would be a bust.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lip said, breaking the silence.

“You didn’t answer mine, either,” Ian countered. Lip tipped his head towards Ian. _Touché_.

“You can tell me, you know,” he said, after a pause.

“I know,” Ian said.

They lapsed into silence again, taking swigs of beer and passing a joint back and forth.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, nearly startling Lip out of his skin. Automatically, both Lip and Ian put up their hands for the customary game of rock paper scissors.

“Ah, fuck,” Ian said as Lip’s rock knocked Ian’s scissors out. He got up reluctantly, almost losing his balance in the process. Lip shoved his leg gently.

Ian somehow made his way over to the door and pulled it open. He was greeted by the sight of a pink-cheeked Mickey Milkovich, his hair falling softly over his face, a snowflake melting on his eyelash.

“Mickey!” Ian exclaimed happily.

“Mickey,” Lip said, considerably less happily.

“Gallaghers,” Mickey said, his eyes darting from spot to spot.

“You came!” Ian exclaimed again, pulling Mickey in by the wrist and shutting the door behind him.

“I'm here to pick up Mandy,” Mickey said. _Not for you_. Lip didn’t have to be a mind-reader to lip read the words he didn’t say.

“You want a beer?” Ian asked, ignoring his, frankly pathetic, attempt at making an excuse.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” Lip said. He didn’t want to stick around to see his brother flirting with the neighbourhood thug with blatant disregard for his health.

Both Ian and Mickey ignored him.  

Lip grabbed a half-empty bottle of beer and made his way up the stairs, nearly tripping on one of the steps.

“Why the fuck do you have glitter in your hair? Are you _trying_ to look like a faggot?” Mickey’s voice came drifting up the stairs, with none of the customary snark Lip was used to. It almost sounded…playful.

“Ouch! Don’t pull out my hair!” Ian said.

“Sorry, princess,” Mickey’s amused voice carried up the stairs as Lip finally reached the top step.

“I'm gonna take that as a yes,” Lip muttered to himself.

 

 

“Hey, how do I look?” Fiona asked, stepping into the boys’ room and smoothing down her black skirt. Lip eyed her appraisively, raking his eyes over her sleek updo, neat makeup and formal attire.

“Do I look like I'm a responsible adult who deserves the job, or like a hungover trainwreck who maybe felt up the pizza guy last night?” she prompted.

“You look like you need to tuck in your shirt,” Lip said.

“Oh, fuck. I knew I'd forgotten something,” she said, pushing the folds of her shirt inside the hem of her skirt.

“Speaking of forgetting things,” Fiona said, “you left this on the couch.”

She held his camera out in her hand. Lip made no move to take it.

“Won’t be needing it anymore, anyway,” Lip shrugged.

Fiona pursed her lips, and then sat down next to Lip on the bed.

“You know, you don’t have to give photography up, Lip,” she said softly.

“No, but I want to,” he said, shaking his head.

Fiona opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

“Okay, look, I never really liked it,” Lip said, rubbing his nose.

“So you carried the camera around everywhere just to impress girls?” Fiona asked, smiling at him.

“No. I carried it around everywhere to impress Monica,” he said, looking Fiona right in the eyes. She sighed, her shoulders moving up and down silently.

“Can't say I didn’t see that coming,” she said. After all, Lip stealing a camera the very next day after Monica had gushed about a photography exhibition she wanted to take them all to was either a hell of a coincidence, or something else.

Fiona squeezed her eyes shut for a second, and then put on a big plastic smile.

Lip knew a battle face if he ever saw one.

“You don’t have to impress anyone, you know. You don’t have to pretend to like something if you don’t,” Fiona said, patting his shoulder.

“Cut the lecture, Fi. Of course I know,” Lip burst out, eyes on the floor. Fiona looked at his slightly flushed face and downcast eyes, and let the smile slide off her face. They both knew each other too well to pretend.

“Yeah, sorry,” Fiona said, voice small.

‘ _Sorry I'm the one sitting here, telling you this. Sorry it’s not Monica.’_ They both tacked the words onto the end of the sentence in their minds.

“Well, I'm glad I won't have to hold still for ten seconds each time you want to click a picture anymore,” Fiona said, smiling through the silence.

“Really? I thought you said I'm the next Picasso,” Lip snorted. Fiona laughed, rubbing his back.

“Hey, we all get confused,” Fiona said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“You said that _twice_. Twice, Fiona.”

-x-

 Fiona smiles as she goes through the faded pictures stuck haphazardly into the album.

The Gallaghers crowded around a Christmas tree, seconds before the power went out, plunging them all into darkness.

Fiona and Veronica having a drinking competition at the Alibi Room, Kev cheering them both on. Fiona doesn’t remember who won, only that they both had to be walked back home.

Carl’s birthday cake that Debbie baked, the sarcastic pink icing sliced off messily by a disgruntled Carl.  


Ian and Mandy flipping off the camera, Ian’s arm around her waist and Mandy’s hair pressed up against his cheek. 

Frank passed out inside a dustbin, with a bottle of beer somehow stuck over each eye. 

Liam in a superhero cape, with Debbie’s blurry hand captured inside the frame. 

The bags and bags of groceries they’d bought once Ian had gotten his first pay check. 

Monica and Frank dancing around the kitchen to Lip’s atrocious singing, drunk and laughing. 

A selfie of Fiona and Lip, their faces squashed together, finger-guns held to each others’ temples. 

Fiona tries not to read too much into the pose.

She sighs as she closes the album, wondering how they’d been bothered to actually print out the pictures and then arrange them in an album.

 _Beep_. The sound cuts through the air. In an instant, Fiona has her phone out and in her hands.

She stares at the message flashing across her phone screen.

_I'll take care of dinner._

Her fingers quickly type out replies, _okay_ and _thank you_ and _you don’t have to worry about it_ , her thumb faltering between the send button and the backspace key.

Delete, delete, delete. The words which never sound right disappear from the screen, one damned letter at a time.

She opens the album again, flipping to the page with the photograph of Lip and her. Her phone’s shitty flash lights up the closet for a moment, then again plunges her into darkness. Before she can change her mind, she sends the image to Lip. _Good times, eh?_

Fiona watches as two blue ticks appear. She can almost see Lip’s fingers positioned over the keyboard, and the way his eyebrows knit together.

The ‘ _online’_ at the top of the screen is replaced by a ‘ _last seen_ ’ so Fiona switches her phone off and sticks it back into her pocket.

She picks up the album again and traces her fingers over the photo that Debbie’d stuck onto the cover with a shitload of cheap glitter glue, so that the congealed glue was crumbling off the sides, the photograph peeling away from the corners.

She stares at her family caught midlaugh. She wonders idly if this is what Lip would consider a candid shot.

Fiona’s hugging Lip and Ian to her sides, Debbie and Carl climbing over them, their feet resting on the boys’ shoulders, a pathetic attempt at making a human pyramid just because one of their neighbours had done it a few days back. And the victory shout they’d all let out when they’d finally managed to get a giggling Liam on top, the bright sound still fresh in her memory. It hadn’t mattered that they’d all fallen off the very next second.

For all anyone knew, they’d stayed rooted in that moment forever, their eyes never closing, their hearts never breaking.

But Fiona knows better.

 

She puts the album back in its box, and picks up the camera on her way out of the closet. She switches it on, watches as the shutter extends, and the screen slowly lights up. The number flashing at the corner of the screen says there’s still space for six photographs.

One for each of them.

Fiona looks around the empty room, listening to the silence. It feels unnatural, even now. She walks around the house aimlessly, the _thud thud thud_ of her feet welcome white noise.

She peeks into the rooms one by one. Empty kitchen, bowls in the sink, cereal in the cupboard. Clean floor, empty milk carton. No bags of groceries lining the counter, no tin full of money hidden behind boxes of cereal, the perpetual smell of something burning finally gotten ridden of. She reminds herself that things change all the time. But just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s not bullshit.

Empty living room, sagging couch, switched off TV. No fights over the remote, no ‘ _you’re too young to watch porn yet, Carl_ ’, no popcorn spilled onto the floor. Frayed winter coats still hang from the door and loose change and tissues still line the contours of the couch but none of it distracts her from the emptiness. Things change too much sometimes.

 

And so it goes.

Signs of life, traces of the kids on every inch of the house, their laughter still staining the walls. But Fiona’s fucked if that ever amounts to anything.

Home is where the heart rips out the nails from its feet and flees.

Her feet brush on the floor and never hit dirty clothes, so her hands stay empty, burdened only by the old camera. She remembers a time when so much time on her hands would have seemed like a miracle.

She’s too young for this. She’s too young for raising five kids and then expecting them to stay with her forever. She’s too young to need anybody but herself, and too young for having to worry about brothers who hate her and brothers who run away and brothers who inhale her coke.

But then again, she’s always been too young.

 

She picks up the camera and moves to stand in the doorway.

Three beds plus a crib, wrappers and stray pieces of paper on the floor, a porno peeking out from behind the closet. Click.

Clean room, messy bed, makeup scattered on the desk, pink frills replaced by movie posters. Click.

White walls, white tiles, old yellow toothbrushes, perforated shower curtain. Click.

Living room, click. Kitchen, click.

It’s not the place, it’s the people. Fiona knows that. But it’s not just any place- it’s home, with all the marks to prove it. The walls can be repainted and the floors can be retiled but she’ll always remember the spilled cereal, the almost-fires, the messy disasters.

It’s not a place.

It’s a grave, for memories to rot in.

 

 _Beep_. Another message. Fiona immediately takes out her phone, heart racing again. You know what they say about old habits.

‘ _New voice note_ ’ scrolls across the screen. She opens up the app and presses play.

“Go on, buddy,” Lip’s voice cuts through the static, soft and gentle. Liam’s voice chirps up suddenly, his babbling interjected by the sounds of a party in the background. Fiona smiles to herself, the phone pressed against her ear. There’s a lull in his mumbling, and then Lip’s voice appears again.

“Okay, say bye-bye to Fi.”

“Bye bye Fi!” Liam says, the words muffled with sleep. She can almost see his eyes closing, can almost see the way Lip picks him up and strokes his hair.

The note ends with another beep.

 

Fiona puts the phone back in her pocket. She switches the camera back on, her eyes on the number flashing at the corner. _One_.

She opens the door and steps out of the house, one tentative step at a time. She’s still afraid the alarm on her black ankle-tracker will go off any second.

She goes right up to the fence, socks already soaked from the wet grass, and turns around. The house is right there in front of her, blinds open, door shut, sky spread out behind it. A flock of birds flies by and Fiona raises the camera to capture her house, their house.

 

Some idioms aren’t bullshit. It took Fiona a shamefully long time to figure it out, but there’s a reason people wear bullshit pearls of wisdom like fucking armour over their skins.

 

Home is where the heart is.

Click. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life, and constructive criticism is always appreciated!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ fiandvee.tumblr.com :)


End file.
